Words words and a cheeky cheque
A day built of words. A splendid one too, feeling positive and true to myself. Had an walk first thing in the morning, and enjoyed looking at the sea.
As I did so, I listened to podcast R3 interviews with Martin Amis (discussing why he is picking fights with Islam, and sounding like someone who was once badly bullied) and J.G. Ballard (introduced as, in the interviewer's opinion, the finest contemporary English novelist). This kind of thing always makes me irritable. He is the best person at being the J.G. Ballard, and writes the best J.G. Ballard books imaginable. Why do we always have this urge to turn everything into some kind of vacuous top of the pops list?
Writing the skeleton stuff again. I now have over 10,000 words of the first draft and I think it is already by some stretch the most entertaining thing I have ever done, so I am feeling very positive about this. Oddly, the writing of it is almost effortless. My only constraint in getting it down seems to be how many hours there are in the day, not trying to work out what to write.
Eventually got through a copy of Written magazine from Guernsey - Adam and Dave have done a nice job with it and I'm pleased to have a poem in it (A sparrow at 30,000ft).
A cheque arrived from First Matie's agency, which is always a pleasing thing.
I also caught up with the French Bloke, who has started his new job and sounded full of vim. He said the photo on his pass was the first one in years where he is smiling. I will zoom up to London soon, for a spot of plotting and scheming with him - as well as, no doubt, to go about the business of imbibing a few sharpeners.
Also had lengthy chats with Liz in the endless attempt to synchronise diaries; and with my Mum, who was contemplating absinthe and buying a gun. But that's another story.
A day built of words. A splendid one too, feeling positive and true to myself. Had an walk first thing in the morning, and enjoyed looking at the sea.
As I did so, I listened to podcast R3 interviews with Martin Amis (discussing why he is picking fights with Islam, and sounding like someone who was once badly bullied) and J.G. Ballard (introduced as, in the interviewer's opinion, the finest contemporary English novelist). This kind of thing always makes me irritable. He is the best person at being the J.G. Ballard, and writes the best J.G. Ballard books imaginable. Why do we always have this urge to turn everything into some kind of vacuous top of the pops list?
Writing the skeleton stuff again. I now have over 10,000 words of the first draft and I think it is already by some stretch the most entertaining thing I have ever done, so I am feeling very positive about this. Oddly, the writing of it is almost effortless. My only constraint in getting it down seems to be how many hours there are in the day, not trying to work out what to write.
Eventually got through a copy of Written magazine from Guernsey - Adam and Dave have done a nice job with it and I'm pleased to have a poem in it (A sparrow at 30,000ft).
A cheque arrived from First Matie's agency, which is always a pleasing thing.
I also caught up with the French Bloke, who has started his new job and sounded full of vim. He said the photo on his pass was the first one in years where he is smiling. I will zoom up to London soon, for a spot of plotting and scheming with him - as well as, no doubt, to go about the business of imbibing a few sharpeners.
Also had lengthy chats with Liz in the endless attempt to synchronise diaries; and with my Mum, who was contemplating absinthe and buying a gun. But that's another story.
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